


Sophie and James' Totally 80s Christmas

by Arizonacolleen



Series: Sophie Hollander Guinevere Series [13]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Christmas Party, Friendship/Love, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 13:01:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17080787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arizonacolleen/pseuds/Arizonacolleen
Summary: With Harry away on a mission, James seeks to save Sophie from the holiday blues.DON'T MISS THE SOUNDTRACK ON SPOTIFY!https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3pR7D3yHgIDJoRdj8S73or





	Sophie and James' Totally 80s Christmas

It was a clear but cold Thursday as Sophie stepped from her cab and walked into the shop. “I thought you were on decompression,” James called as she passed him in the locker room, stopping at hers to hang her overcoat. “Good day to you too, Lancelot,” she replied sarcastically, closing her locker and stepping back to his.  
“Yes,” he corrected, “Good morning Guinevere. I thought you were on decompression?” James furrowed his brow in jest, standing before his locker and turning to face her.  
“I am,” Sophie explained, “only Edwin has asked for my help with a new project and I have agreed to assist him. Project Epimetheus, something to do with the brain or some such business.” Sophie added a soft shrug to her explanation, “I’m not entirely sure I understood when he explained it but he seems quite excited.”

“Always the willing guinea pig,” James mocked, getting a curt look back from Sophie as she rested against Harry’s locker, “why are you always agreeing to that man’s mad schemes?”  
“Because they often save our lives?” Sophie countered, “He is an **actual** genius, Lancelot. Besides, what else am I doing next week?” Sophie checked her nails for any sign of imperfection, her admission having no emotional register. “You could always come to Norwich with me,” he offered, “impress the family with your pheasant and snipe shooting skills perhaps?”  
Sophie made a pained face at the prospect, her eyes trailing as she replied, “Tempting as you make that sound, I actually have commitments to my parrish. I must, unfortunately, decline the offer.” James glanced briefly, ensuring they were alone before he asked softly, “Is there no chance he will return for the holiday?” 

“No,” she answered flatly, “and with my own history I have no right to be dour about it. It simply is.” She dropped her hands to her side, lifting from his locker but subtly resting her palm against it as she faced James. “I suppose I should make my way to the lab,” she explained, “mustn’t keep Edwin waiting. We have mad science to create...or destroy. Or something.” Sophie added a meek smile to the exchange before turning to leave the room. She only made it to the door before she heard, stopped, and rolled her eye in amusement at James’ response. Calling out to her back as she walked away, James crooned, “Marian? Must you go?”  
“Charles,” she sighed merrily, “I’m afraid I _must_.”  
Sophie smiled, turned back to him and crossed her arms. James closed his locker, walking to her in confident strides. “Since you have refused my first invitation, I will make a second in friendship.”

“Charles…” Sophie said, tapping her foot before turning and making her way to dressing room two to descend to the transport. James followed her from the locker room, keeping her pace and he coolly put his hands in his pocket. “There’s a party in my neighborhood,” he commented, “80s in theme, supposed to be an office party for an imagined company. I have an extra ticket, and I’d like you to come with me.” Sophie entered the dressing room, looking to him to exit when he gestured for her to continue and closed the door. “I’m going to headquarters as well,” he explained. Sophie nodded, placing her palm onto the mirror and beginning the descent. “So what do you say?” James repeated, “Tomorrow evening, I could collect you if you like.”  
“Certainly not all the way to Fulham,” Sophie protested. She observed his hopeful face and smiled despite herself. “Alright,” she consented, “I’ll meet you there.”

“You’ve made the right decision Marian,” James announced, his voice comical, “I have on very high authority that this party is going to be **totally** awesome.” His unexpected response caught Sophie, resulting in a burst of laughter as the elevator slowed to a halt. She raised a fist, stifling her laughter in the large hall. “I’ll leave your invitation in your locker,” James remarked, “as I’m certain you will be back in this office tomorrow.” He looked to her, and Sophie gave a mild shrug in confirmation. Sophie began walking down the hall - stopping to look back when James stayed behind. “Charles?” she asked, “Are you coming along? You said you had business here?”  
“No,” James corrected, “I said I was going to headquarters, and I have.” He activated the return as Sophie closed her eyes, groaning audibly. “See you tomorrow, Soph. Oh! And it’s a fancy dress party!” James yelled as the lift closed.  
“Wait,” Sophie replied, looking up to the ceiling in disbelief, “it’s what?”

 

Sophie stepped out of the shower, opening her closet to her blue, black, green and pink suitcases. She stretched once, grasping the green case and laying in across the bed. It opened to display a vast selection of stage makeup palettes. Sophie selected the appropriate shades, laying them out with her vanity case and set to work doing her hair. She combed it through, glancing at the invitation in the corner of the vanity mirror. She grinned as _Step into Christmas_ started on her radio and she grabbed a can of mousse and a rounding brush. Sophie smoothed the mousse into her hair as she gazed at her reflection, softly patting the area around her eyes and her cheekbones. She then swept her freshly straightened hair up into a fantastic pompadour. When she achieved the height she desired, Sophie then cast the hairstyle with a generous application of Elnet. She admired the surprisingly butch style and smiled to herself.

Dancing along happily to the Elton John, she next opened the palettes, admiring the vivid colors for her costume makeup. She began to set her makeup, choosing the yellows and baby blue she remembered from secondary. She then paused, remembering her life during the 80s and reminiscing about her sense of fashion. Amused by this, Sophie turned and switched the radio to Absolute 80s radio before returning her attention to applying the makeup. With these tasks done, Sophie walked to office and retrieved a special ring of keys from the safe. She then wrapped her robe around her and left her apartment. Crossing the staircase, she entered the key into the small studio apartment along the side wall across from Sophie’s doorway. She bought it several years before, when her elderly neighbor passed away. She did not want to possibility of young, curious neighbors. She entered, shut down the alarm, and closed the door.

Inside the walls were lined with custom built, floor to ceiling closet inserts, Sophie walked past the small sofa and coffee table, stepping to a specific area of her wardrobe. Flipping through her hanging items, she stopped at a silver suit with thin lapels and a blindingly white male-tailored shirt. Sophie took it down from the wardrobe, ensured the size and locked the apartment up before returning to her own. Wang Chung filled the air as Sophie emerged in an outfit she hadn’t worn since she was seventeen years old. She stepped into new heels to complete the look before she grabbed her coat and headed directly to Kings Cross. Cutting across the road and out of the brisk breeze, Sophie stepped to the coat check still humming _Dance Hall Days_.  
“Oh my God,” Sophie heard behind her, turning to face Lancelot in disbelief, “where did you find this?” He gestured to her look as she observed his and offered a hug, “You look like Martin Fry.”

“Thank you!” Sophie gushed, her smile enormous, “You are looking at vintage Sophie Hollander. From my own wardrobe.” Sophie blushed, raising her eyebrows, “Still fits.”  
“I’m in awe at the style of young Miss Hollander,” he replied, enchanted.  
“You, on the other hand, are very disappointing,” she huffed, crossing her arms. James looked down at his ensemble innocently before returning his focus to her, puzzled.  
“It’s cheating,” Sophie protested, “that outfit is not proper fancy dress.”  
James smirked innocently, looking back at his slacks and hideous Christmas sweater proudly. “I believe this was made in the eighties,” he offered as he handed his coat to the check and followed Sophie into the party, “You wouldn’t want to see me back then. Let’s have a drink, shall we?”  
“Now I absolutely want to see you back then. I must,” Sophie mocked as they walked to the bar.

“Fancy a pint?” James offered as they approached the bar. The song changed and Sophie clapped to herself as Adam Ant played just slightly too loud for proper discussion. Upon reaching the bar, Sophie leaned in and called to the bartender, “Six shots of Sambuca, please.” She looked back to James, and as they took cash and presented the shots he responded, “Are we actually going to take shots?” Sophie was dancing along to the song, and turned to him with a shrug. “Qua qua, da diddly, qua qua, da diddly,” she sang, going for her first shot. James raised his, and they took them with a bitter face at the flavor. “To Christmas in London,” James toasted, raising the second shot, “the best city in the whole world.”  
Sophie lifted her shot to meet his, “To having friends to share in it,” she said, “cin cin!” They both sipped the shot back and returned the glass to the bar. 

Another song began and Sophie danced along in place as they stood at the corner of the bar. “I have to thank you for inviting me,” Sophie loudly said into James’ ear, “I would be home right now, eating tikka and watching Attenborough.” James smiled at the thought as Sophie took final shot of sambuca. “Now look at me!” she said jovially, “Just look at my hair!”  
“I am looking at your hair,” James mocked happily, “it’s taller than I am.”  
Sophie gasped loudly, scandalized. “Charles!” she cried dramatically.  
“Marian!” he hawked back with equal theatrics, causing a shared laugh between them. James watched her as she hailed a pint, swaying in place with the music. He always had such fun with Sophie, and watching her silliness shine on this night filled him with joy. He hated thinking of her, alone without her husband and feeling isolated from her peers. He made a promise some years before, and meant to keep it.

“I love this song,” Sophie commented happily as she began dancing to New Order. James set his pint upon the bar and mused, “Everyone likes this song.” She looked back at him as she danced along to the music, rolling her eyes before turning them back to the card on the bar with party activities. “Oh,” Soph exclaimed, “look, a dance contest!” She looked to James, who was immediately pleased at the suggestion. “Well, obviously we must join that.” With that, he took Soph’s hand and began walking to the registration. They joined the line, where James began patting gently at the back of Sophie’s scalp. “What are you on about?” She demanded, shaking out her hair. James smirked, rolling on his heels subtly as they stepped forward in line. “I was simply checking for your bolts from Edwin,” he mocked, “or did he install a hidden zipper? He didn’t keep your brain, did he? Seems like an item that would prove useful.”

“It’s in my purse,” Sophie replied slyly as they reached the sign-up table. “Marian,” Sophie announces, gesturing to herself, “and Charles.” The host nodded, taking down the names as James continued, “Come on then,” he goaded, “what’s it like, working on Edwin’s newest mad scheme?” James looked to the mockup of fictional job titles that guests choose from to complete the registration, missing the pall his question cast on her face. “It’s frightening,” she admitted, “to see what’s to come and realize what is really possible.” James paused, considering her tone as the host interrupted to request the selection of job for the registration. In near unison, both he and Sophie replied, “outside sales.” Collecting their numbers, they continued on to the dance floor.  
“We are listening for _Iko Iko_ to begin the competition,” Sophie called as she pinned the number to his back, “James, would you live forever if you could? From right now, I mean.”

“Would I have to pass a test?” James asked lightly as Sophie stepped closer to him on the floor.  
“No,” Sophie replied, “if a fairy offered you eternal life, but as you are right now, would you take it?” James looked around at the tinsel raining down on everyone on the dancefloor and back to Sophie “Absolutely,” James replied, “I have a fantastic life, and if I live forever - the world either won’t need saving in the future, or we always prevail.”  
“I don’t think that’s entirely true,” Sophie countered, “would it not mean the fight never ends?”  
“There’s that radiant sunshine!” James mocked, “Always in a sunny disposition, my Marian.”  
Sophie looked up with a smile, swaying to Wizzard as the classic emptied the chamber of silence and gloom. She hugged James, swaying along with him as she confided, “I would not want to live forever. I don’t feel that to be our purpose here.”

“So that’s what he’s up to…” James remarked, “breeding fairies! It all makes sense!” James raised a zealous and comical finger, pointing it as Sophie, “I’m right, aren’t I?”  
His tone made Sophie giggle before fixing her expression, replying, “Classified, I’m afraid.”  
“So,” James asked, gently stretching his shoulders, “would you consider yourself a good dancer?” Sophie shrugged innocently as the song ended and the floor cleared a bit.  
“First mission was ten months dancing with a group in Azerbaijan,” she explained, “I might’ve picked up a thing or two. You?”  
James leaned in, bragging, “I have two very awkward years in tap. My mother thought it might benefit me as a gentleman.”  
“Lancelot?” Sophie commanded low, “I want this.”  
James took her hand, “Yes sir.”

The first two songs seemed easy, with both finding their natural and complementary rhythm. They swayed as other dancers were tapped to leave the floor, both in-character and focused on one another in work-like focus. As the Madonna track pulsed, they remained on the floor with the contestants. The final song was a slow dance, and they quickly came together and took form. James sighed, “Soph, we should talk. I have something I need to tell you.” James led, mixing a few fancier steps as he turned her on the floor seamlessly.  
“‘We should talk’ sounds ominous,” Sophie whispered playfully, “you aren’t dying are you?”  
James responded by lifting Sophie into the air - twirling her in place and lowering her into his arms. “It’s about that night,” he admitted, “what happened between us that night.”  
“Nothing happened that night,” Sophie said firmly, “that’s why we don’t speak of it.”

“Something happened that night,” James replied, gripping her hand as the song ended. James looked around, noting the few remaining dancers on the floor. “Mission completed, Guinevere,” he said as they were handed the third place trophy and Wham! began singing of Christmas heartbreak. Sophie looked at his hand gripping hers before slipping from his grip. “Meet me at the bar,” she instructed, “I’m off to the loo.” Sophie handed him the trophy, hoping to let the subject die as she crossed the floor and continued into the ladies’ lounge. There she queued and listened to the music until her opportunity. “You were terrific out there,” another patron offered as she washed her hands, “you and your husband are in such sync.”  
“Oh, he isn’t my husband,” Sophie corrected, “merely good friends.” Sophie caught her excitement at the information as she refreshed her lipstick, “He’s brilliant. James. You should ask him to dance.”

Sophie nodded zealously to encourage her before closing her lipstick and leaving the sink and tossing a towel into the refuse bin. “Völlig losgelöst, von der Erde,” Sophie sang along as she returned to the bar, “Schwebt das Raumschiff, Schwerelos!” She greeted James with a smile, still singing along, the subject seeming to disappear. James displayed their trophy, surrendering it to her before he ordered the next round of cocktails. They took a healthy sip of the strong vodka-based cranberry cocktail before James added, “This was a Christmas number one, you know.” Sophie looked at him, then up to the speaker and back. “Yes,” she replied, “I did know that. I’m beginning to think you might be spiffed.” James’ cheeks went slightly red as he gestured for another round, denying it entirely. “Couldn’t be me, Guinevere.”  
“Really, Lancelot?” Sophie mocked, her accent taking on an absurd polish, “Are we not...over-positively pissed? Hm?”

James laughed at this jibe, pausing before his next drink. “Thank you for coming,” he said simply. He looked at Sophie, the warm hazel of his eyes shining as he took her expression in. “You are a better drinker than I,” he admitted as Sophie finished her drink.  
“I wasn’t always,” she responded, “I used to get a bit wispy after only a bit of gin.”  
“I think I just like being drunk,” James replied mirthfully. Sophie merely shook her head in reply, stopping immediately when _Enola Gay_ began. She turned back, excited, to James and pleaded for a return to the dance floor while her favorite song played. He took her hand and they went to the floor, leaving the trophy behind. They took to the floor, swaying happily together. “I need to talk about that night because we are friends,” James confessed, hugging Sophie as Ultravox began and dancing slowed, “because it’s been ten years, and nothing has changed.”

“I know,” Sophie replied.  
James stopped for a moment, looking at Sophie in confusion.  
“Harry told me,” Sophie continued.  
James’ face seemed relieved, embarrassed, and amused in washes. As she saw it, Sophie continued, “He said, ‘any man that looks at a woman the way he looks at you…’.” Sophie held his neck, her nose twitching slightly so she could ward off any emotional response as she gazed at him. Just then, their concentration was broken when she heard the person to her left, “It’s Angela. Hello. You’re James? Your friend said I should ask you to dance, and I thought now or never!” Sophie smiled, turning to Angela and immediately pulling for her. James shook her hand as Sophie leaned into his ear and whispered, “It was eleven years ago, this September. I know, Lancelot. Have a wonderful night.” With that, she kissed his cheek and left him with Angela. 

Sophie looked back, watching James make conversation while dancing and she was happy. Just as she was reaching the coat check, a host rushed over, returning her trophy. Sophie took it with great thanks, holding it under her arm as she stepped out onto the quiet street. Within a few blocks, she was in a warm cab and on her way home. Sophie gazed out the window at the lights, grateful to be in a cab with a privacy wall between passengers and driver. She needed silence, as James’ words about that night rang through her head.

* * *

Lancelot left the train compartment lavatory as quietly as possible when he heard her quiet sobbing in the darkness. “Marian?” he called cautiously, listening in the darkness as she immediately fell silent. He gently climbed into the bed beside her, brushing her temple as she shifted to look back at him. “I’m fine,” Sophie replied, “I’m just feeling a lot at the moment.” Sophie looked back out the window, bathed in moonlight when she whispered, “I’ve lost him, haven’t I? I’ve gone and ruined it.” Lancelot loomed over her, resting over her propped on his forearms. “Everything is going to be alright,” he soothed, “you aren’t alone. Guinevere, tell me: have you been adding counterintelligence to your sobs, in case anyone has started listening?” Sophie looked up into his eyes, her concentration coming in a flash.  
“Charles,” she gasped, “hold me. Please hold me, my love. I had an awful dream.”

Lancelot pressed himself close to her, whispering softly as she moaned a few times for cover. “If he’s as smart as you claim, he won’t give up on someone so wonderful.” He caressed her cheek, adding simply, “It will all work out.” As their noses brushed, Lancelot leaned in and kissed Sophie softly. Sophie was overwhelmed by the sensation - which was both unique from her average work engagement and also entirely unlike being with Harry. Work was a hollow, easy practice born of mirroring a subject’s passion to her performance. This was different: Sophie simply held him as he ran his hands along her body and kissed her neck. All Sophie could focus on was how each sensation compared to her memories of Harry. She thought of how his touch was softer, and about how his kiss wasn’t. She wondered what Harry was doing as Lancelot’s hands brushed over her gown, running up the length of her leg and lifting the gown as his legs mingled with hers. 

Perhaps it was how this upset had crept into her work - a phenomenon for which Sophie had no experience coping that kept her focus.  
Perhaps that was why James’ gentle and affectionate support felt so wonderful to Sophie in that moment, where she didn’t have to perform and he seemed so genuine in his concern. It wasn’t romantic, but it was...nice.  
“Marian,” Lancelot gushed softly, “my delicious fairy cake. I love you as Shakespeare loved words.” His cooing made Sophie chuckle, and as she hummed in gentle relief he nuzzled her neck and tenderly pushed into her. Unlike the previous sensations, this one felt immediately wrong to her. She hummed in performance, but Lancelot noted the tone immediately. He lifted his head, pressed his mouth to her ear and whispered, “Guinevere? How are you feeling?”  
Sophie swallowed hard and replied, “I can’t do this. I love him.”

James immediately halted, lifting a single hand as he silently withdrew and Sophie instinctively pulled her knees together. “I’m sorry,” Sophie offered, embarrassed as he carefully wrapped her in her robe to preserve her modesty. “Cobblers,” he dismissed positively, “you just spoke your mind. No reason to apologize for that.” When Sophie was covered and relaxed, James kissed her temple and asked if he could rest beside her. “Please,” she replied aloud, “I love being in your arms, Charles. Don’t ever let me go.”  
Lancelot spooned her close, ensuring he could whisper to her faintly and miss anyone listening in. “If there’s even a chance,” Sophie explained, “a glimmer, I have to be faithful until I know.”  
“This was merely an exercise in cover transparency,” Lancelot explained, “we are simply two agents, working. There’s no reason for us to ever discuss it again.”

Sophie nodded, relieved at James’ ease. “Are we still friends?” she asked, breaking James’ heart a bit at her bemusement. He responded by squeezing her until she sighed laughter, whispering to her charmingly, “You just try to be rid of me. So long as you promise that should that fool ever become unworthy of your faith, that you will move on, and trust your friends to help you, Birdy.” Sophie looked back at him, nodding gratefully. They then slipped into easy sleep in their shared embrace. They grew into a dear and loving friendship over the years. James was the second most important man in Sophie’s life, and proved as good as his word: he never mentioned that moment to Sophie, or anyone after that night. By the next day, it was as though it had never taken place.  
Until James mentioned it at the party tonight.

* * *

Sophie stood in her kitchen, leaning against her sink and eating a large bowl of Alpen in her bra. She hadn’t thought of that night in a long time. James had been right: as soon as she returned, Harry made amends and they were together again. He had been the most wonderful friend to her. As she chewed her cereal in the silence of the flat, her glasses buzzed on the counter. Sophie poured the milk into the sink and grabbed them, slipping them on before returning to the sink to wash up.

_Did you get home safely?”_

Sophie looked up, texting back her response as she washed her bowl and placed it into the rack. Across town, James shifted in bed, taking special care not to wake his companion as he read her message:  
 __

_I did. Thank you James. Hope you had a wonderful time._

James smiled as he stared up at the ceiling, reading her reply. Sophie rinsed the sink, walking through her flat to the bedroom and claiming her robe as she continued texting to him:

 

__

_In her own, complicated way, Marian loves you very much. Please know that._

James read the message, smiling in the dark. Again, he attempted to invite her to Norwich with the rest of his family for the coming Christmas. Again, Sophie declined. She loved seeing James Spencer; but whether apart or together, Christmas belonged to her husband and love.  
She closed the conversation there, grabbing her suit from the armchair.  
 __

_Happy Christmas, Lancelot_

James returned the sentiment, rolling over to return his focus on his guest.  
 __

_Happy Christmas, Guinevere_

Sophie grabbed her keys from her office, leaving her apartment and walking across to her studio to return her suit. She stepped inside, keying the alarm code and closing the door. She swept the single room, ensuring she was alone before she punched an additional code into the keypad. She stood there as all the windows blacked out, sealing her inside as a large screen descended from the ceiling. Sophie replaced her costume to the wardrobe, made a simple cup of chamomile tea and flopped down onto the sofa in the center of the room. Sophie pulled the file, projecting footage taken from Harry’s previous missions. This was how Sophie intended to spend her Christmas with her beloved. Whether together or no, any way she could feel close to him would do on this most cherished holiday. That, and to light a candle for Reverend Hislop after service on the day. Sophie sat in the dark, watching the only man she’s ever loved heroically pummel henchmen to save the world.

Drowsy with her euphoria, Sophie grabbed the knit blanket from the back of the small sofa and curled up. She switched to her own directory, pulled a file and stared up at his face until she drifted into easy sleep.  
Christmas came, and Sophie looked up from the small sofa, bleary-eyed. She looked at the half-eaten Victoria sponge on the coffee table and signed. Five days alone, and Sophie had spent most of it rereading logistic reports, watching field records, and eating festive confections.  
Luckily, no one was around to see her in such a disheveled state. Sophie sniffed, stretched, and looked at her watch before acknowledging the date. She then tossed her discarded cake into the bin and lazily walked to the door to release the lockdown and return the screen. Once it returned to a simple apartment, she left in search of a shower and proper dress for church services. 

She crossed the small stairwell, noticing a small hanging bag left on her doorknob and wondered how long in had remained there. Grasping it as she unbolted the door, Sophie stepped inside and opened the bag, bursting into laughter at the site of it. In her hands was a lovely wooden frame containing a photograph of an awkward young James Spencer in university. The card simply read:

_Now you know. Happy Christmas, Marian_

Sophie hugged it to her chest, enjoying another mischievous chuckle before placing it onto the bookshelf in her office and continuing to a warm shower. The smile remained as she selected a dress and readied herself for services. She was looking forward to service and as she slipped on her wedding band and stepped out, she felt invigorated and hopeful.  
She loved and was loved, and certainly there’s no better way to spend Christmas. 


End file.
